


You Make Your Pleasure of Your Pains

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Twelfth Night - Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1626059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Antonio lost Roderigo several times, when all was told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Make Your Pleasure of Your Pains

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Elaby

 

 

Duke Orsino brooked no debate on the topic: He loudly, firmly, graciously, and pompously insisted that Antonio remain in Illyria as his guest until the dual wedding celebration.  His face aflame with wine and the still-sharp shock of unexpected love, he'd clapped the captain on the shoulders and leaned in far too close.  Antonio had shepherded Sebastian to a safe reunion with Viola! In mistaking the sister for the brother, he'd helped bring the masquerade to an end! The happy lovers' delightful resolution was all his doing! His presence, having so blessed their unions, was required; his absence would surely cast an ill favor over the proceedings. He was their good luck talisman.

Antonio only grimaced. "An I've brought luck to your two houses, Sir, then call me gen'rous as a saint: I keep none here, though I have starved for luck, and give it all where fate already smiles." But the Duke, drunk, was gone, off to flatter another well-wisher.

So Antonio stayed, if only to see with his own eyes what he so desperately wanted to deny.

\---

Any ship long enough at sea encountered a floater or two. Most often they were already dead, bloated, their mouths and scraps of clothing filled with kelp. Sometimes a ring or cluster of coins remained in the mess. Antonio was never one to turn down gold he didn't have to work for, and so despite the superstitions of the crew, he'd haul them up and search their effects. When rarely they were alive, they were mad. Mercy had prompted the captain to dispatch one wrecked survivor who'd been so long afloat without fresh water that he'd babbled and foamed at the mouth. The crew said their prayers as they returned the body to the waves. Antonio returned to the wheel in silence.

It was a clear afternoon when Roderigo was spotted. Lashed to a shattered mast, he looked like a broken doll, and everyone grimly assumed they'd found another corpse. "This one will set the stars against us sure," the bos'n murmured darkly.

Though the boy lay limp on the deck, he breathed steadily. Antonio looked down on him. He was a pretty thing, with cheeks still pink despite the season and the sea. His eyelids fluttered; he groaned; he lifted his gaze to meet Antonio's.

"Am I alone?" he asked.

"No others we can see."

The boy nodded, and again he closed his eyes. There was no waking him for days after that.

\---

Roderigo wasn't much use to the crew. His soft hands could barely grasp the hemp, and he had no sea-sense to speak of. He said he was a merchant. Antonio saw the pampered, fickle air about him clear as day, but decided the boy could keep his secrets. He ate little enough, and seemed content to work as well as his meager skill allowed. He also kept the captain company. Indeed, Antonio insisted that he share his quarters.

They took meals together in the evenings. Roderigo talked idly of the attractions of nearby coastal cities, which he'd had occasion to visit, he said hurriedly, in the course of his business dealings. Antonio told tales of the only things he'd ever known: sailors, ships, and waves. He'd seen strange locales and fought battles - skirmishes, truly, but they grew in the telling. Antonio found himself craving the light that came into Roderigo's eyes during these stories. His mercurial humour, sullen one moment and delighted the next, spurred Antonio to ever greater heights of invention. Brushes with death, elephants on ships, stolen crates full of dancing girls, they all leapt to life for the boy's amusement. His laughter was clear as ice.

Antonio had never been a pious man. He knew God's laws, followed them as best as he could, but life demanded compromises and allowances. Surely God understood. When he finally crossed the space between him and Roderigo and took the cup from his hand, he was certain this was not the devil's doing. Their kisses were too pure and cool.

"A silly poppet," Antonio called him as they lay close in his bunk. "His love is light and shallow as the mist."

The boy's brow furrowed. For the first time, he looked serious and thoughtful, and turned away. "My one deep love proved too substantial, Sir. It broke, and sunk, as sea-mist cannot do."

Antonio could not but follow him when they landed in Illyria. He'd never sworn his love and faith to anything but his ship. Now he found himself blown off course by this golden-headed gift from the sea. Or, he fancied, blown finally onto his true course.

\---

He lost Roderigo several times, when all was told.

First, the revelation of his true identity: Sebastian of Messaline, a gentleman, as Antonio suspected, and a brother whose lingering sadness came from the new loss of a beloved sister. It only made him love the boy more to see him weep. He tried to take him in his arms to comfort him but was pushed away. He had to beg to be allowed to follow.

Then, the altercation on the street, when the seeming Sebastian denied him, spurned him, let him be taken by the law when it was for his own benefit that he'd risked himself in the first place. Those hours alone in the jail were dark ones. Antonio half-wondered if he'd gone mad, or if he was cursed.

Finally, his Sebastian was returned to him, bright-eyed and full of love - but married to a woman only three hours known. It struck him dumb. He could only withdraw and watch the byzantine entanglements sort out before him. He knew he had his wits about him this time, but now more than ever, the words of his superstitious crew echoed in his ears.

_This one will set the stars against us sure._

\---

Pardoned, forgiven, welcomed as a kinsman and a friend, Antonio sat through the nuptial feast in gifted finery. He set his face in a mask of well wishes. He couldn't help tracking Sebastian throughout the hall, watching him dance ecstatically with his sister and his wife and laugh clear as ice with the Duke.

He set out for his ship that very night. Illyria had no luck left for him.

 


End file.
